It took a moment for the statement to fully register. He could understand the older man. He could hear the words coming out of his mouth, he could hear the strange rhythm and thick rolls of the language as he spoke it, and knew it was a language that was entirely foreign to him. But, at the same time he could perfectly understand it. It was like something the man had done had cut deeper than knowledge and into the very concept of language itself, or maybe even deeper than that? He didn’t know. What he did know was that he could perfectly understand the man, and he also intuitively knew the man would be able to understand him, too.

Alar looked around at the other members of the crew, most in similar states of bewilderment, before the crew member who had stepped in front previously spoke up and towards the riders.

“Yes, we can… H-how? What did you just do?” His voice cracked with confusion, and surprisingly, a bit of accusation.

“Wonderful,” the older man responded. “I apologize for the shock I undoubtedly caused, but you must realize that I couldn’t explain to you what I was about to do before I did it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have needed to do it in the first place.” He gave a gentle smirk as he explained.

“But what did you do? What happened?” the man shot back, slightly more aggressively this time, feeling and touching around his blue flight suit as though he was checking for something that had been physically placed on him.

“A simple spell, nothing more, allowing us to better understand each other,” the cloaked man said.

Alar’s stomach twisted slightly. A spell.

The word sat uncomfortably in his mind. It should have been nonsense. He had spent his entire life with magic as a part of stories, of books, of games and cinema, a relic of pre-scientific superstition. But here it was, stated plainly, with no other explanation presenting itself.

The implications were staggering. This wasn’t some reasoning model translating things, no helmet or earpiece feeding real-time processing to him like they had planned. He had felt it when it happened. Something had brushed against his consciousness, changed something fundamental within him. This wasn’t technology, and it wasn’t some trick.

But if this was real, if magic was real, then what else? The unexplained anomalies? The gravitational distortions? The energy signatures that defied physics? Could they be related? Was that magic, too?

His mind surged with questions, pushing against everything he thought he understood. Could everyone on this planet use magic? Was it something learned, or something inherited? Could he use it?

The older man in the cloak studied them all, clearly taking in their reactions with mild amusement. "You are strangers here, that much is clear," he said, shifting his staff slightly against his saddle. "But you are not entirely blind, I think." His gaze flickered briefly to Alar, as if he was still sensing something, before continuing. "What is more, I am sure you have plenty of questions, given your reactions, but so do we. Who are you, and from where have you come?”

Their apparent leader, now looking even more confused than when the conversation had started, hesitated as he answered.

“I am Ensign Marvin Anderson, I am.. we are.. part of a descent crew hailing from our ship, stationed above your planet,” the “Ensign” stated, his training slowly kicking in and confidence increasing as he continued speaking. “We have come to your planet seeking refuge. We attempted to land with the others from our group, but our pod malfunctioned as we descended. We are here as delegates and to provide you with our advanced knowledge and technology. We intend to build a settlement on your planet, and we will assist you with..”

“Assist us?” the large man with the spear cut off the Ensign with a sharp, barking laugh. “No mana, no weapons, weak..”

“Easy now Garren” the man with the spear was cut off gently by the cloaked man. “Apologies for the interruption, but he does have a point. I sense almost no mana from any of you, and still do not understand where you came from. How did you get here? Which planet have you teleported from?”

“Teleported? I.. uh.. we did not teleport, we.. we flew here. From Earth, our planet is called Earth.”

“Dirt?! Your planet is named Dirt? Mud?” the spearman, again interrupted, laughing in earnest this time. “You come from a planet named after mud and you think you will bring us knowledge? When your minds, bodies and levels are weaker than that of a small child?”

“Garren, please,” the man interrupted him, this time a bit more forcefully, “it is not our place to decide to what extent they could help us, or if they will be provided refuge.” He turned back to Ensign Anderson and spoke, “You say you flew here? From Earth? And this”, he looked toward the destroyed pod, “is the technology you used to get here?” he put a slight emphasis on the word, that had minor notes of incredulity mixed in. “I see... Very well then. ‘Earth’ is not a planet I am familiar with, but it matters little. Give me a moment.”

The cloaked man lifted his staff into the air, closed his eyes, and Alar felt another pulse of energy shoot from the tip. This one, however, was not directed towards them, but was sent skyward. He then opened his eyes and looked back towards the group.

“You have landed on the planet Vorthys, you are currently standing within the Great Dravash Empire. My name is Kaval, and as you probably have guessed, this is Garren. Next to him is Teara.” He nodded towards the two other riders.

“We are the Empiric officials that oversee this town” he gestured broadly at the farmland and small houses surrounding them. “I have just sent an inquiry to the Capital, where I would assume that certain officials would be happy to…” he paused as Alar felt another gentle pulse, this time coming down from the sky, made contact with Kaval, who stood still for a moment before a slight frown darkened his face. He waited another moment, listening to something they could not hear, before he spoke.

“It appears that the others who landed have already been… secured. Or, well, located. Apparently, the Empire was already aware of your descent and took certain measures to ensure the safe landing of your companions. I have been informed of their location and we have been commanded to take you to them.” His voice had adopted a slightly more formal tone, and he glanced over at Garren as he finished.

An uneasy shiver spread through Alar’s body as the man spoke. He had initially been intrigued by everything the cloaked man -or maybe mage?- was saying. He had a million questions he wanted to ask about mana, about magic, about how strong these riders were that they looked down upon Alar and his group. And what did he mean by levels? It seemed like you could detect mana in others, and the man “Garren” had a tone that seemed to imply that not possessing mana was strange, or a sign of weakness. Was the tingling in his body mana? Was that why the mage Kaval kept glancing over at him? Alar did not know, but instead of focusing on these questions or their answers, his attention instead was forced toward the end of the discussion, where Kaval had essentially admitted that the sensation they had felt during their descent was interference by this Empire to “secure” them and control where they landed. While Alar did not know why they wanted to secure them, or more accurately, forcibly drag them out of the sky mid-flight, he didn’t have a good feeling about it.

“Our companions, they landed safely then?” Ensign Anderson said, interrupting Alar’s thoughts. “And you are going to bring us to them?” his voice had a hopefulness to it, the prior tone of accusation gone, and he looked between the three riders expectedly.

“Yes, that appears to be the case” Kaval responded. “Please feel free to gather any valuables you possess, and then we will be off. Teara if you would be so kind as to commandeer a few wagons for us?”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

The woman nodded and rode off back towards the outcropping of buildings. Meanwhile, Kaval moved closer to Garren and began talking to him in hushed tones. Ensign Anderson appeared to take this as a dismissal, and he turned back towards the group with a tight smile on his face.

“You heard them! Gather up what you can carry from the wreckage, the other pods are sure to have everything we can’t carry once we get there.” Alar could not tell if he was genuinely optimistic, or if his positive demeanor was a mask to maintain morale, but Alar could not share his confidence. But, lacking any better options, Alar made his way back towards the pod to see if anything was salvageable.

Stepping over a few twisted pieces of metal, he ducked his head as he re-entered the pod. He half expected to see flashes of electricity sparking from exposed wire, and the lights flickering in and out as he entered, but it appeared that the effect that the mana or this environment had on their electricity was absolute. The pod was completely dark and silent, with the only light coming from the open exit door behind him. He fumbled around for a few moments before he found one of the storage closets, half ajar from the impact. He pried it open a bit further, again a bit surprised at how easily the bent metal gave way as he pulled, and looked inside. A few crates containing drone parts, a few tablets, and different coils of wire and cord were scattered inside. Most of it was useless without functioning electricity, but one crate near the bottom caught his eye. The impact had cracked it open, revealing a glint of metal. Alar reached in, pushed aside what looked like a small emergency blanket, and pulled out a small knife, its dark, single-edged blade still sharp despite the crash. It was a utility-grade knife, standard issue for all descent crews, and one would be provided to him with his rations and other supplies when he was assigned his tent after they had made camp. Given his hesitation about their situation however, he decided to take it now. He initially strapped the knife to his belt, but thought twice about it, and decided to slide it into his waistband instead, covering it with the front of his flight suit after he did. Finding nothing else of value, he turned around and headed back towards the door.

Emerging from the pod, he squinted as his eyes adjusted to the natural light. The others were still gathering supplies, some carrying small bags, others sifting through debris for anything functional. The two riders waited patiently, their horses standing still as they observed the scene, and Alar also noticed two large open wagons, approaching from the northwest, with Teara flanking them. The wagon horses were driven by men that were wearing no armor, but rather patchwork pants, one man’s brown and the other’s a dark grey, and roughspun tunics. They appeared to be farmers, or laborers, and both had disheveled appearances and stressed looks on their faces, indicating to Alar that they had no interest in being brought into this situation and were certainly not there by choice.

The crew slowly made their way towards the riders and formed a small group in front of them, with no one saying much and simply standing idly, awaiting the wagons’ arrival. Alar made his way towards Ensign Anderson, who was standing near the rear of the group, a large backpack over his shoulder and what appeared to be a disabled drone carried under his arm. Stepping near enough to the Ensign that his voice would only be audible to the man himself, Alar spoke in a rough whisper.

“Sir, does any of this feel.. off to you? They forced us down, and probably had our people before we even landed. This doesn’t feel like hospitality, it feels like control.”

Anderson barely spared him a glance, adjusting the drone under his arm. “You’re overthinking it, civilian. They saw us coming and took precautions. That’s all.”

Alar’s jaw tightened. “Precautions don’t usually involve pulling ships out of the sky.”

Anderson let out a sharp exhale, his patience clearly wearing thin. “And what do you suggest? We run? Fight? With what?” He shook his head. “We follow orders, get to the others, and let the real decision-makers handle it. Now fall in line.”

Alar stared at him for a moment, then shrugged, stepping away and towards the group, his unease only growing as he did. When the wagons arrived, Kaval beckoned them all aboard, each wagon carrying about a dozen people. It was cramped, and Alar climbed on board only to get pushed and shoved towards the edge, where he leaned against the waist high wall of the wagon. The horses took off at a relatively slow pace, clearly unaccustomed to the weight of a dozen or more people and gear, and before he knew it Alar was traveling away from the wreckage and out into this new world. The land stretched out around them, rolling hills of green broken up by jagged outcroppings of red-brown rock. Small mesas and buttes dotted the distance, rising out of the earth like forgotten sentinels, their shadows stretching over long patches of lush farmland. A few scattered homes with old fences marked the edges of the fields, but there was a quiet emptiness to the land, and a tension, like the land itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to break the stillness.

And then there was the capital. Massive, looming, a fortress of black stone and towering spires that cut into the sky at too sharp of angles. It stood in stark contrast to the land around it, an unnatural weight pressing down on the horizon. It wasn’t just big, it felt wrong, like a wound in the landscape, a shadow cast over everything beneath it.

They rode a while before Alar noticed the mage begin shifting his horse slowly over to the side of the wagon where he stood. He did so with a deliberate casualness, like he wanted the movement to seem unintentional, but eventually he found himself riding along directly beside Alar. He looked out in front of them for a few minutes as they rode, but maintained a pace identical to the wagon as he did, his horse remaining no more than an arm’s length from Alar the entire time. Finally, he spoke, not under his breath, but quiet enough that amongst the sounds of the horses and wagon wheels rolling over the dirt and rock, you needed to focus to hear it clearly.

“You planet has no mana of any sort?” he asked Alar, his tone hesitant, like he had reached some impossible conclusion that he questioned even as he said it.

“No,” Alar said back simply, not seeing any reason to lie.

“That shouldn’t be possible,” Kaval said, his tone unreadable. “If I hadn’t seen you all with my own eyes, every single one of your companions completely devoid of mana, like something was stunted or broken, I wouldn’t have believe it.”

Alar didn’t look at him. “If Earth had mana, we never knew it. Never used it.”

Kaval exhaled deeply, shaking his head. “And yet,” he said, “you can feel it.”

The words struck something deep in Alar, like a light flickering on in a darkened room. Because he could. He hadn’t put words to it before, but now that the mage had said it, he immediately knew it to be true. The sensation had been there since the second their pod had entered the atmosphere, the tingling beneath his skin, the way his limbs felt more powerful, almost like they were infused with energy, the strange alertness buzzing at the edge of his thoughts. It was mana. He had his suspicions, but this was a sort of confirmation.

“It’s making me stronger,” Alar admitted. “I don’t know how to use it, but I can feel it” I could…” He hesitated, the memory clicking into place, the instinct that had surfaced when Kaval cast his spell. “I could have pushed back. Against your magic. If I knew how.”

Kaval’s posture stiffened, his grip on the reins tightening just slightly. It was quick, almost imperceptible, but Alar caught it.

“No,” Kaval said, his voice firm.

“No?” Alar shot back. “You just said I could feel mana. I am not saying I knew what to do, just that I could sort of sense what you were doing.”

“No,” the man said more firmly. “No one can do that,” a note of something colder slipping into his tone. “No one not bound to the Mental Forms can detect them, much less resist them. Even those who spend years mastering them do not simply push back. If you are not trained, if you are not bound to them yourself, then what you’re saying is impossible.”

But Alar knew what he had felt.

“And what you are feeling is the presence of mana, it is most likely foreign, if your home planet truly lacks any mana of its own, and it probably feels invigorating and new, but it cannot strengthen you, not without a bound Form. This sense of it is good though, as it means you may be able to bind yourself to a form someday, if… I mean when, you are able to establish yourself as a refugee.” He glanced over to Alar as he corrected himself, clearly hoping he did not catch the misstep in phrasing.

Alar was too focused on what he had said before that, though.

“Bound Forms? Mental Forms?” he asked, confused.

“The Forms” the mage said back, his tone stating it as more of a title than anything else. That which underpins all reality, and is the basis of all things, all power, and all that is or will be. All of it has a Form, a true form, a perfect nature, that can be touched on by those bound to it. The wind around us, the strength within us, the dreams in our minds, everything. They all have Forms, and once someone binds to one, or in rare cases a few, they can use their mana to touch upon that form and use it to affect the world around them.”

Alar nodded, the mage’s words making at least some sense. He was about to ask a clarifying question, but before he could, Garren shouted out from the front of the wagons, cutting him off.

“Kaval, come, it is just over this hill” he said.

Kaval turned his head to look at Alar. “Another time, perhaps” he said, ending their conversation, and pulling on his horse’s reins to steer it towards the front of the caravan. Just as he was about to leave, though, he turned back around and tentatively looked at Alar.

“Your best chance, your only chance, is to not resist. The Empire values utility above all else. Show you can be useful, and you may just find a place here.” And with that he rode forward, joining Garren in front of the wagons, as they crested the hill ahead.